


Advertising Space (all that's left in any case)

by gabrielgoodman



Category: She Loves Me - Bock/Harnick/Masteroff
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8566060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielgoodman/pseuds/gabrielgoodman
Summary: "Why don't you just get a boyfriend or ... something like that and tell your mum you're happy? Maybe she will believe you then?" Georg proposes, and.That's it. That's. It.Steven's world stops for a minute. God dammit, the guy's Brilliant."Georg," he says, "Georg, that's fantastic."// As every year, Steven is already planning his way around the Annual Kodaly Christmas Dinner but as an unfortunate incident can't prevent him from going, Georg is just the guy a man needs. Or Steven needs. Anyway, he would never pass up a chance to piss off his relatives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Get ready to become well acquainted with Steven Kodaly's first name. 
> 
> I'm aware that there's already a fake relationship AU existing in this fandom but when I started writing this it didn't. Anyway.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, I do not own any of those characters and no profit is made with this work of fiction. The whole ensemble looks like the cast of the She Loves Me 2016 revival , obviously (duh).
> 
> Title: Robbie Williams - Advertising Space

Steven dreads the end of Summer for the sole reason that his break, which always takes place in the middle of August until the start of September, is over and another one isn't due until the Christmas Holidays, meaning that he has to work full time for a whole of three months and that's an awfully long time, in his opinion, at least. He doesn't like working and he's only doing it to fund his rather exquisite lifestyle and because it's basically frowned upon these days, though he supposes he could pull off a work-free life but that would mean he would have to rely on his family's fortune for once and all and that's just entirely unacceptable – he's already planning his way around attending the Annual Kodaly Christmas Dinner. Despite living in the states they don't do Thanksgiving, so Christmas is the next huge opportunity for a beloved family gathering. The thought alone upsets Steven. His relatives have never approved any of his choices, even if it weren't choices at all.

So, on the first of October with Summer gone for real, he's already in the shop, sitting behind the counter, resting his head on the palm of his hand when the door bell rings and Georg strolls in, beaming like a particularly radiant Sunday morning, and it's not enough to cure his sour mood. On the contrary, actually. How can the guy always be so positive about everything? That used to be Steven's forte.

"Good morning, Kodaly! You have an idea where Mr. Maraczek is?" He has a letter in his hand and Steven is about to lose his mind; _of course_ , Georg is the kind of person that writes letters, probably because it's old fashioned and romantic and all that jazz that Steven doesn't like at all. Love is nothing but a fleeting instance most of the time, to him at least, and he doesn't plan on changing anything in the grand scheme of things soon, so there's no need for him to write letters to woo anyone. He's got a mobile phone that's working just fine. Georg got one, supposedly, too. Steven got Georg's number saved because all the employees of their parfumerie have a group chat but he's never participating except for when him and Arpad, their delivery boy, get into heated debates about literature. Usually, that's the moment when Steven diverts his attention from his phone onto more interesting things.

"Morning. No man, I have no idea, but in the back probably. I'm pretty sure some new stuff arrived and he's just checking in to make sure Ilona and Amalia register everything accordingly," he yawns, remembering last months' stock disaster when Sipos and Arpad messed up their whole system. That was a sight to behold, truthfully.

"Oh, thanks, uh." Georg stops in the middle of his step, when he's already halfway to the back and Steven raises one of his perfectly groomed eyebrows in silent curiosity, "You're alright?"

Steven sighs. Oh _no._

"Not really but that's none of your business, thanks for asking though," he says, in hopes it will satisfy Georg.

The guy waits for a moment longer, like he's expecting Steven to elaborate ( _as if_ ) before he retreats into the shelter of the back of the shop.

Right in that second, the door bell rings again and Steven gets to his feet as a young woman enters, a searching expression on her face. She's pretty so he plasters a smile on his face.

It's not enough to wash Georg's concerned gaze out of his head.

   
*

  
"No mum, no – no, I already told you I don't have time to come around this weekend – no, mum, I have to work – _Mum_!"

Steven doesn't even want to know what he looks like right now; standing in the break room because, technically, it's his lunch break, shirt sleeves rolled up and brows furrowed in frustration, hair a mess from running his fingers through it one too many times and phone pressed to his ear. This is definitely nothing he wants to think about any longer – him, out of all people, who's normally the picture of cool collected calm now in such a state of – a state of – he doesn't even have words for this. God, sometimes he _loathes_ his family.

Ilona's trying her hardest to stifle a giggle behind her hand but Steven hears it nonetheless and glares at her.

"What's going on?" Georg, who's been endorsed in a conversation with Amalia about some kind of book, is looking up, mouthing the words at their colleague. Steven doesn't have time for this now, his mother is fussing about _something_ – probably his lifestyle, or his way of clothing, or, God forbid, his work ethic – on the end of the line and if Ilona dares to say a word he might have to hide her lifeless body where no one will ever find it.

"My mother," he says in lieu of an answer, hand cupped above the speaker of his phone.

Amalia sighs and Georg looks confused now, "What? Your _mother_?"

Steven rolls his eyes, "Yes, Georg, my _mother_. It seems like you can't believe that I, as every other human-being on this planet, have parents. I didn't just saunter into this world, dressed to the nines and fully grown, you know."

"No, no, that's not – that's not what I meant," he stammers offended and it's one of those moments that Steven can't believe how he made it to assistant manager. Jesus Christ, the guy's a mess at his best times.

"Pray, tell, what did you mean then?" he asks, pressing the phone to his ear again so his mother doesn't think he hung up for real.

_"–ery important for all of us and we would like to have you over here, Steven, you know family does always come first, don't you? How often do I have to tell you? Hm?"_

Georg hasn't answered yet, so he takes the freedom to respond to his mother's words.

"I perfectly understand but I have a job and if I won't attend I will lose said job and – do I really have to explain what this means?" Steven knows the answer won't really satisfy her but unless he will agree with her every word nothing will satisfy her at all and he died trying doing this a long time ago. No wonder his parents never fight. It's not like his father would ever dare to speak against her.

_"We will talk about this, young man. And I want to see you on Saturday for family lunch. Goodbye Steven."_

The dial tone is the ultimate sign that this conversation is officially over and Steven tucks the phone away into the back pocket of his pants. Usually, his mother doesn't call him Steven, she only ever does it when she's, like, really angry with him and that's never a good sign.

"I mean, why would you have a problem with your mother? I get along well with my own. I just, uh, I think it's weird to me when people don't get along with their parents, that's all. I've always thought it would be normal to get along with them well," Georg says, innocence a blessing that he doesn't value because he doesn't know.

"I'm glad you have such a stable environment, Georg, but not everyone has such luck," Steven says, dry and patient as a grave.

"What he really wanted to say," Ilona perks up and he silences her with a wave of his hand. It's rude, he knows, but he can't help it, he's just so fucking frustrated right now because his family is absolutely impossible and insufferable and indescribable and. What did he _do_ to deserve this?

"What _I_ really wanted to say is that my mother is harassing me _again_ because of some stupid family get together that I can't be bothered with at all. Besides that, I'm working Saturday because Amalia has the day off, right?"

Amalia nods, a smug smile on her lips, giving him a thumps up. At least that's not a lie.

"You deserve it."

"I'm working on Saturday too."

Ilona and Georg say at the same time. Steven supposes that she's right.

"Hm? Oh, what a _joy_." It's not even a joke.

"No, I mean, you could tell her. I could give Ilona and Sipos off too, so it would only be Arpad and us, which would classify it as an," he accompanies his words with quotation marks, " _Emergency_."

"That's a brilliant idea, Georg," Amalia says, "but I gotta go, break's over for me." She stands up, kissing Georg on the cheek and just like that, she's out of the room. Sometimes Steven thinks of her as a force of nature.

There's a light blush on Georg's nose. It's cute.

"Well, I suppose she's not wrong," he sighs, and Georg's face lights up.

Ilona marks the page in her book and gets up to her feet; apparently her break is over too, "She _is_ not wrong, you idiot," she says, but not mirthless, which. Is something.

And that's how Steven sends his mother a text, excusing himself for the weekend and apologizing in the same breath.

  
*

  
On Saturday, the last Saturday of October actually, they open an hour later than on weekdays so he only has to be there at 8 am to guarantee they are able to open on time. It's the business version of sleeping in, Steven guesses, but he can't be too sure if sleeping in is actually a thing in the world of working people because he never experienced it despite on Sundays or in the Holidays. For all he knows, it could be another myth.

Georg is already there, sipping on a tea, which is a surprise because he might be on time everyday but is never _too_ early.

Steven wraps his scarf tighter around his neck, "Morning."

"Oh Good morning Kodaly. Slept well?" Georg turns around and takes the key ring out of his coat pocket to unlock the door, the sound ringing through the crisp morning air. It's terribly early for a Saturday but at least they aren't the only people out and about; a few others are on their feet as well, mostly shop owners, looking just as grim as Steven did on his way here.

"Well enough," he mutters because the mention of sleep reminds him of his warm bed which reminds him of the time he got up which reminds him of what he's avoiding today and that train of thought is simply too depressing to continue.  
  
"Hey, cheer up. At least you don't have to spend the day with your family," Georg quips, with a smile, and opens the door.

The shop is always ghostly quiet in the mornings whenever they are the firsts to enter. Steven usually works the morning shifts because he's been doing those since he started at Maraczek's and used to share them with Ilona – their brief fling isn't one of his fondest memories, exactly, and it's a small miracle that she forgave him – until Georg started working here seven years ago and he was the one who needed to be worked in. Ever since then they've been doing most morning shifts together, with Ilona, Amalia and Sipos trailing in between one and two hours later. Arpad just started working there two years ago, about the same time as Amalia got hired, and has been trying for months to get a promotion. It's funny to see him trying to catch Mr. Maraczek's attention whenever their boss enters the shop, but until this day it's been in vain; as of now he's still only a delivery boy. Maybe before the Christmas buzz starts he will get his promotion.

Steven flicks on the lights and the glass fronts of their cabinets come to life as the dozen different colored flasks inside get illuminated one by one; it's his favorite part of every morning. He's glad to be working in such a beautiful, one-of-a-kind environment and it's no wonder that their shop is still a favorite among customers and tourists alike, with it's old-school cupboards and vintage shelves, every single one adorned by a range of perfumes and various other articles. It's charming and he's fitting in well enough.

Georg sets up the register and Steven brings his stuff into the break room in the back, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up on the rack next to the door, turning on the coffee machine which he already prepared yesterday evening. While he's waiting for the coffee to run through, he takes two clean mugs out of the dishwasher and checks his phone for any missed messages or phone calls (there are none). It's nothing short of a miracle that his mother hasn't called him already because, in her world, convincing someone to change their mind only works if you call them multiple times a day. It doesn't matter how often Steven has explained to her that it's simply not possible for him to attend this weekend, she just doesn't care. Slowly, it's getting on his nerves.

"I made coffee," he announces when he's making his way back to the front of the shop, balancing both cups in his hands to make sure they don't spill, and Georg lights up just like the cabinets did minutes ago. It's .... a nice sight, Steven supposes.

"Thank you," Georg says, accepting the steaming cup out of Steven's left hand, who lowers his own onto the counter.

For a while, they drink in relative silence; they still have about half n' hour until they officially open so it's blissfully quiet inside, only momentarily disturbed by a car siren, which they're both used to and it isn't until Georg is halfway done with his cup that he starts to speak.

"So, is that why you've been so upset lately? Because of your mother?" he asks, honest curiosity lacing his tone.

Steven contemplates the question, weighing the pros and cons of telling Georg but then he thinks to _hell with it;_ it can't do any harm to tell the guy he's been friends with for 5 years what's going on in his life and Steven's pretty sure that Georg considers them friends.

"Yeah, uh, kinda? Yeah. She's been bugging me for months to visit them and I always had something better to do – I was working or something else – and now, that Christmas is literally around the corner, she's hoping to get me to visit before the Annual Kodaly Christmas Dinner," he punctuates every single one of the last four word, capital letters obvious, and Georg frowns, "which won't ever happen like. _Ever_. It's already bad enough if I can't avoid the Dinner."

"Hm. Why don't you want to spend time with your family?" Georg asks and the line between his brows deepens and Steven wants to soothe it with the tips of his fingers.

"Because," he says, and here it comes, "They're judgmental assholes." His co-worker actually visibly _winces_ at that and Steven sighs, "Let me explain before you brand me as the asshole that I clearly appear to be. They're not particularly fond of my lifestyle or any of the choices I have made up until now even if those haven't been _choices_ at all and use every chance to remind me of why, exactly, I'm a failure in their eyes. It's something I'd rather avoid, given the chance."

He takes a sip of his coffee. It's almost gone.

"Okay, I think I understand, I mean, I wouldn't like to spend time with people who judge me either, but ... uh ... ever tried to explain your point of view?"

Really. _Bless_ Georg and his innocence.

"It's not really easy to reason with them when they think anything other than being straight is a sin and will get me right into hell," he says, shooting Georg a look, counting the seconds until the gears in the man's head start shifting and turning.

"You're .... You're not straight?" Georg's confused, that much is clear. Steven chuckles.

"No man, it's not the 19th century anymore and I sure as hell aren't going to pretend. So, no, no, I definitely am _not straight._ And they think that being anything other than straight will never guarantee a stable relationship. They think I will never _fall in love,_ " he scoffs. Even if it isn't for him, the idea of falling in love doesn't sound necessarily _bad_. It's not like he's, let's say, super opposed to it. In a few years he might even favor it. Maybe.

"Why don't you just get a boyfriend or ... something like that and tell your mum you're happy? Maybe she will believe you then?" Georg proposes, and.

That's it. That's. It.

Steven's world stops for a minute. God dammit, the guy's _Brilliant_.

"Georg," he says, " _Georg_ , that's _fantastic_."

Georg looks even more confused now and, Jesus Christ, how endearing is that? No wonder Amalia was all over him in her first weeks.

"Uh, I ... guess?" he raises his eyebrows, "What do you mean?"

"You're my boyfriend for the Christmas Dinner is what I mean." Steven beams and Georg goes rigid, though he doesn't really understand, the idea is too good to be actually true, so Steven scrambles to his feet and shuffles over to Georg, leaning over the counter to look him in the eye.

"You can say no, but you would do me a huge favor. C'mon Georg, we would just have to pretend! And after the night is over we can be friends again," Steven wriggles his eyebrows because he can't help it, "Or, I don't know, we could continue ..."

Georg looks rather horrified now, so he slows down, for his colleague's sake, "Relax, _that_ was a joke."

"Yeah, thanks, that's so kind of you," Georg deadpans, leaning a little away from Steven who tries not to notice or be offended.

"I will do whatever you want, please." And if anyone knows Steven Kodaly well they'd know that he isn't someone who easily resolves to pleading or, worse, begging, so, really, Georg should feel honored (a minimum) if not special (a maximum) to be at the receiving end of that kind of attention. But it's not like Steven is in a position where he has much of a choice, it's the only solution; his family would realize that he isn't sick or a complete failure and the Dinner would be almost bearable with Georg there, and, additionally, he's pretty sure his mother would _love_ the guy. It's a win/win situation for everyone involved. Georg would even get a free dinner _and_ an evening with Steven Kodaly. Clearly win/win.

"You would get a free meal, it's a one-of-a-kind deal. My mum's an incredible cook, promise. Please?"

Georg sighs like he bears the world on his shoulders, "I will think about it, okay? We have to open now, Arpad will be here in a minute."

Steven grins. It's enough. It's a start.

  
*

 

After work, when they're clearing up, Georg finds him in the men perfume aisle and taps him on the shoulder, which equals a heart attack and causes Steven to bump his head on one of the shelves.

"Ouch, dude, I hope it's important or else I got this concussion for nothing," he hisses, rubbing the back of his head.

Georg, unimpressed, only crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, sorry, 't hurts," Steven shrugs, about to return to work.

"I will do it," Georg says then and Steven must really get a heart attack, there's no other way to describe the rapid beating of his heart.

"What?" he asks, dumbfounded. He's never been a man resolved to monosyllabic answers but that's what Georg does to him. Apparently.

Interesting.

"I will do it," Georg repeats, slowly and impatient, like he thinks Steven has the brain capacity of a piece of wood. Fair enough, he probably does think something along those lines.

It takes another hot second for the words to really reach his brain and when they do, the wide, toothy grin on his face spreads itself.

"Oh my God, Thank you, Georg Nowack, you're a fucking _lifesaver_ ," Steven says and he might get overexcited because he might hug Georg, right then and there, in the middle of the shop. Maybe. Who knows.

Georg's body is warm and solid beneath him and he smells good and he's so much taller than Steven, and, _God_ , it's been awhile since Steven had anyone – any way, anyhow.

"Uh, Kodaly? If you could stop hugging me now that would be pretty cool," Georg says from above and he can hear his heart beating against his chest and that's a nice sound.

"Kodaly?"

Right. _Right_.

Get it together, Kodaly.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Okay, so, the dinner is in about a month, on the 26th December. That's a bit time but until then we can figure everything out, get comfortable around each other." He gives Georg a look.

"Sure, yeah," George says.

And that's how Steven got a date.

 

*

  
Okay, so, it's not really a _date_ , it's more of a necessity but whatever; he's never been someone to be particular fond of labels.

The next weekend Georg and him both have a day off (because Amalia and Ilona had one last week) and thus decide to meet in a cafe down the street of Steven's apartment to work out the details of their performance, in case anyone asks any intruding questions (which they will, Steven knows them) or are too curious for their own good (which they are, Steven _knows_ them).

"So, how long have we been together?" He asks, when they are sitting across from each other on a table in the corner, coffees in front of them.

Georg shrugs, stirring the cream in his coffee, "About a year or so? If it wouldn't be impossible to explain."

"Hm," Steven hums, "It wouldn't, that would at least explain my absence from the last Annual Kodaly Christmas Dinner, because I spent it with _you_." He crams as much suggestive undertone into the word as he can, "and it would explain why I've been so reluctant to meet them, though my mum will demand to know why I haven't told her about you but that's my own battle to fight, so to speak."

"And we've known each other since you started working at Maraczek's, that's the truth, at least," he goes on.

Georg nods, "Figured."

"We're not living together, because we both prefer to have our own space – that's important, my relatives think it's unusual to not live together after more than a year. My mother’s name is Katherine and my father’s called Illya.”

Georg makes a sound of agreement.

"Anything else?" he asks.

"My favorite color is red. Dark red, and I think it suits you the best," Georg smiles apologetically, "Just to clarify."

Steven can definitely feel the heat gathering in his cheeks. He never thought Georg would've noticed such things but then again, he's a smart man, of course he would take note of the small things.

"Really?" he asks, just to make sure he heard right.

Georg ducks his head and, for a grown man, it's adorable, "I like the red sweater. You always pair it with the white dress shirt and those black pants, I like that outfit."

Maybe, possibly, this is a hallucination and he just fell headfirst into a perfume aisle.

"You're really serious, aren't you? You mean this," Steven leans back in his chair, grinning.

Georg _blushes_. The red suits him well, too.

"Kinda? It's not like I can deny it, I mean, you're," he makes a gesture with his hand, helplessly, "you're _you_. You're handsome, there's no way anyone could ignore it." and glares at Steven, before he finishes, "But don't let it get to your head, Kodaly."

"Steven," he immediately replies without thinking, "My name is Steven. You should start calling me Steven and get used to it, it's weird if you call me by my surname."

Georg frowns, ".... Right. Steven." and it sounds like he's testing the name, how it sounds, how it tastes on his tongue and really, Steven shouldn't like it as much as he does, Georg only said it _once_ but there's a rush of warmth tingling up his spine.

"Okay, Georg, what do you want to know about me? Now's a good time as any," Steven proposes, shifting in his seat – he knew he would have to do this but he really really doesn't want to, there's a reason why he behaves the way he does and it sure as hell isn't because of all the positive reactions he receives. Being himself; it's easier when there's a layer, a persona created that's _him_ but not his core, it makes everything much more bearable and besides that, he enjoys it. It's not like it's an act, exactly, it's more of a one-dimensional portrayal of his character. He doesn't let people in, it's just – It's not a thing he does, normally.

"What's your favorite color? And what's your favorite book?" Georg leans forward, interest evident on his face and it's so unguarded, Jesus, how does he _do it_?

Steven swallows. Those are easy questions.

"My favorite color is gray, my favorite book is Hamlet, though I'm not much a reader, I prefer movies. And to answer your question beforehand, yes, I do have a favorite movie, it's the Pink Panther, hey, don't look at me like that!" he raises his hands, "It's a classic, okay."

"A _classic_ , huh," Georg says, only half-mockingly, trying to hide his smile behind his coffee cup but to no avail, Steven can see it anyway. It makes him feel ... funny, somehow.

"We can't all live behind the moon, Georg. Some of us have an extensive pop cultural knowledge and enjoy the finer things in life," he teases, taking a sip of his espresso himself; it's still warm enough to be of pleasant drinking temperature.

"Books are also pop culture, in case you weren't aware of that, Steven," Georg says, and he's smirking now, lighthearted, "But I'm pretty sure you know, you're intelligent after all." He makes a face. "Or intelligent enough."

Steven puffs his chest, "Hey, hey, hey –" but a dark, rich sound interrupts his protests and it takes him a moment to realize that Georg is _laughing_ and, God, he has a beautiful laugh, warm and full and joyous and it should be the simplest sound but somehow it's so wonderful and rare, Georg should laugh more often, Steven decides.

"I was joking," Georg tells him after he calmed himself and met Steven's disapproving brow.

He exhales, "I'm so glad you think so highly of me," but can't help the grin that's tugging at the corners of his mouth despite how hard he tries to keep it down.

It's so _weird_. Steven doesn't smile often; he smirks or grins or chuckles, he doesn't _smile_ or _laugh_ , there's never any reason to do so anyway. He can fake it well, he can be the life of the party, the center of attention, and still; it's not the same. It's never the same anymore, his parents shut him up more than effectively when he was a teenager and found passion here and there, but never for their cause or, worse, their religious view. He's not like his brother, the preacher, who's always been their dream child, their one and only, who met their expectations like Steven never could, who's been the one to show around whenever they went out; and, ultimately, there was no place for Steven to laugh or to live. He arranged himself with surviving for the time being. It worked.

Maybe that's an explanation for his way of living today. Not that he _needs_ any, it’s just nice to know he’s right.

“You’re nice company, we should’ve done this earlier,” Georg says after a beat of silence, sweethonesttruth, and now it’s Steven’s turn to blush even though that, too, has never really been a thing for him.

“Likewise. There’s no one else I would love more as my play-pretend boyfriend than you, I’m a lucky lucky man.” He grins and, because he’s feeling particularly bold, takes Georg unoccupied hand, the one laying on the table, and he turns it around, palm up, and draws patterns before intertwining their fingers and Georg just watches him, fascinated maybe, freaked out probably, and his fingers are rough and calloused, nothing like Steven’s own, and his hand is warm and it’s better than he expected. He could get used to it.

“Thank you,” Steven says, just as honest as Georg before.

“That’s what friends are for.”

But Steven’s not too sure about that.

 

*

 

The weeks pass faster than they should and they get more comfortable around each other; there are more touches in the shop, a pat on the back, a hand on his arm, a lingering gaze and Steven tells himself that it’s only so they get used to each other, after all the performance has to be natural, and he tells himself time and time again, even when he invites Georg over on a Friday night to watch a movie together.

To no surprise Georg arrives on time and along with him a bottle of red wine (Steven’s favorite, he notices) that he opens even before his guest is out of his coat and shoes, meeting him back in the hallway with a glass filled as far as socially acceptable.

“You’ve got a beautiful home,” Georg comments as he accepts the glass and Steven laughs.

“I don’t want to promise too much but you’ve only seen the hallway, so, d’ya want the tour? Or want to skip it and get straight to the actual movie night – Oh, I’m such a terrible host, wait, I’ll hang up your coat, just, take that for a second.” He gives Georg his glass and rushes around him, aware of the eyes tracking his movements, and does as he told, his hands trembling and he doesn’t know why but at least he gets it right on the first try.

Georg, blessing he is, doesn’t say anything, only gives Steven his glass back and follows him into the kitchen, “I think I want the tour? If it doesn’t take too long.”

Steven shoots him a look over his shoulder, “I’m not a billionaire, but, well, without further ado, that’s the kitchen, the dining table is in the living room in case you’re missing it.”

His kitchen isn’t big, it’s not even _impressive_ , but it’s tasteful and almost old school and the charcoal fronts are a treat, especially in the grand scheme of the room which is a more industrial feeling, bare light bulbs, copper and all, and Georg looks around for a second, then nods to himself.

“I like it. You’ve got taste but I’ve always known that.”

“Thanks,” Steven says, smiling, and takes a sip of his wine. He’s lightheaded already, why, he doesn’t have an idea.

They venture into the living room, where the former mentioned dining table is at one end of the room and the sofa and the TV, as well as a radio, on the other side and center, and at the far back of the room there’s his desk in front of huge windows overlooking the city; Steven turned on the desk lamp which illuminates the room.

“That’s obviously the living room.” he doesn’t add the _duh_ but it is apparent, “And this door,” he points towards mentioned door next to the desk, “leads directly into my bedroom which you will also get to see and that’s a privilege. Normally my visitors only get to see the bedroom and nothing else.” He smirks.

Georg makes a face. _That_ face. His savage face, the comically caricature of a raging expression, you know the one, “I’m not that easy, Steven!”

Steven laughs out loud, “I know, I know, relax.” They cross the living room and Georg looks around, sometimes interested, other times curious, “So here we are,” he says and opens the door.

Steven’s bedroom is primarily what it’s called: A _bed_ room. There’s his wardrobe too but nothing more than that and the large bed, making up half of his room. His bedding is gray.

“Nice,” Georg approves, downing about a quarter of his wine. Steven snorts and leads them back into the living room.

“What are we watching? I mean, I just kinda trusted you to pick something because you’re the movie guy here, I am only reading books and I see you do even own some ... Is that Dante? Steven Kodaly, I’ve never taken you for a Dante-kind-of-guy.” Georg is rambling, it’s so painfully obvious that it’s almost sweet.

“It’s my brother’s actually, I’ve never come around to actually read it,” he confesses, the heat already rushing into his cheeks because acknowledging these things makes him blush these days. Apparently.

“We’re watching Catch Me If You Can starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks, it’s a really good movie and one of my personal favorites.”

“Sounds good, I’m trusting your decision, I mean, you know what you’re talking about and you have well-acquainted taste so just put it on and I’m also not particularly hungry in case you were about to ask it. I can see it in your eyes. You were about to ask that, weren’t you?” Georg is _still_ rambling. It’s still sweet, he’s even fumbling with his hands. Steven has to change that so he lays his free hand on top of Georg’s, looking up at him.

“Calm down Georg and take a seat, if you’re not hungry that’s fine with me.” he says and gestures into the general direction of the sofa; the room isn’t large, Georg will find it for sure, he’s even able to see it at that precise moment. He won’t get lost.

Before taking a seat as well, Steven gets the wine bottle out of the kitchen and returns to the room, sitting down next to Georg, who’s currently reading the back of the DVD packaging very thoroughly. He refills his wine glass, turns on the movie and leans back into the sofa cushions, one feet tucked under his thigh, facing Georg, "I think Sipos doesn't like me," he says after a while, making a face.

Georg chuckles, "What makes you think _that_?" and puts the DVD onto the coffee table.

The buzz from the TV is nothing more than background noise, none of them paying actual attention to what's happening on the screen.

"He's always so ... polite, constantly smiling, its almost frightening, it's like he's trying his hardest to not be rude to me, you know? It's a little unsettling," Steven explains his observations and maybe he's frowning, a bit, because it's disorienting. "He's never like this around you. You guys have this weird –" he makes a hand gesture, _Friendship_. Mutual understanding, whatever. You talk to each other. He only ever greets me and says goodbye or asks me if I could pass him the milk and that's it."

Georg leans forward, resting his hands on his knees and looks at him sideways, "I think you're overreacting, Steven."

Steven crosses his arms in front of his chest, "Well _I_ don't think so."

"Of course, you don't," Georg remarks softly, "but do you really want to talk about work? I mean I could talk to him if you would like that but I thought this is supposed to be _fun_. I would rather not talk about work, we never do anything else, despite that one time in the cafe. Tell me something about yourself."

Oh God, _no_. This is exactly what shouldn't be happening; this is what Steven dreads, loathes and hates: talking about himself.

"Oh c'mon Georg, that's boring. As you should already be able to tell I'm not that interesting, really." Steven laughs nervously, fucking hell, what is happening?

"I don't think so," he speaks his own words back at him, but he's not smirking, he's earnest and it's so unguarded, sweet Jesus, it hits Steven like a knife in the chest, twisting and turning when Georg reaches out and takes the wine glass out of his hand, suddenly so close and Steven can smell him, a reminder of that one time in the shop, weeks ago, spicy and wooden and rich and dark and everything he ever desired. He swallows.

"Why don't you want to open up, Steven, why don't you want to tell me anything?" Georg asks almost concerned and his thigh is touching Stevens's knee.

Steven exhales. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's alright. He can tell Georg. He will tell him the light version without the sobbing and the teenage angst.

"It's because no one ever cares."

Georg stares at him for a moment and then he's leaning in, his hand curling around the sharp line of Steven's jaw like it belongs there, and his breath is hot against Steven's skin, and everything is too much. Steven closes his eyes.

"Is that okay?" Georg whispers and Steven nods, his fingers clutching Georg's shirt, drawing him in.

And Georg follows marvelously, surprisingly, it's almost like a wonder, and then he's kissing Steven, cautious and content, and Steven's eyes slide shut involuntary as he slumps forward, melting into Georg's broad frame, who's catching him, unoccupied hand around his waist. At first they have to get used to each other, figuring out the right angle and bumping noses in the process even though Steven is a natural under usual circumstances but Georg doesn't comment, only hums under his breath, a sweet symphony that tastes as good as it sounds. Despite himself he whines in the back of his throat, needing, teasing a snicker out of Georg, who proceeds to nip at his jaw and, _fuck_ , that does _things_ to him; he threads his fingers through Georg's dark hair, stifling a moan, and, because he's already practically doing so either way, shuffles around until he can sink into Georg's lap, his knees digging into the softness of the sofa cushions.

"You're fine?" Georg asks while his thump is tracing the outline of Steven's cheekbone which is, quite frankly, rather distracting.

Steven cocks his head to the side, "Hmmm," and kisses Georg briefly, "Are you?"

"More than fine," Georg affirms and he's so different to the Georg he knows so well, the one who tends to be anxious and jittery, frightened sometimes and a mess at the most times, charming and awkward nevertheless. This Georg is sure of himself and only trembling slightly and there's a dust of red tinting the high of his cheeks which is endearing at the least and causes Steven's stomach to twist itself into knots, something he wasn't aware he was actually capable of feeling.

It's intoxicating and this time he's the one initiating the kiss, coaxing Georg's mouth open with his tongue until they are both breathing heavily and Steven's skin is hot to the touch, feverish even where Georg lays his hands on him and he pours himself into the feeling and the warmth, and gasps when Georg's teeth graze his bottom lip and he tastes like the finest wine; the kiss grows more heated from there on and Steven is tempted to start to grind only to get the tiniest amount of friction and why the hell did he even choose to wear this extraordinarily tight pair of pants?

( _Because it makes his ass look great_ , an evil voice mutters in his head)

He wants to kiss Georg forever; it's addictive.

Just in that moment he starts to slow down until he's kissing along Steven's neck and presses his mouth to the underside of Steven's jaw one last time; when he looks at him again, his eyes are dark and hazy, his hair disheveled and his lips red but it's a sight for the sorest of eyes around. Steven doesn't even want to know how _he_ looks like but for once he doesn't care at all, it's the kind of mess he likes to be.

"Thank you," he says and clears his throat and Georg smiles.

"It's my pleasure, really."

They stay like this for a while; Georg holding him while he's almost dozing off, head nestled in the juncture where Georg's neck and shoulder meet.

"I should go," he says after a while and Steven nods; he should.

They say goodbye at the door and when he comes back into the living room the movie has returned to its menu.

 

*

 

"Ilona, I kissed him. He kissed me, whatever. We kissed. _Ilona_." Steven's freaking out for real, he's sure, and Ilona isn't even paying attention even though he classified this as an emergency meeting but, honestly, it's not like he's surprised. What Arpad is doing here too, he has no idea but it's not like he's disapproving; the kid can be as silent as a grave, Steven knows that from first-hand experience.

Anyways, Ilona is still not listening despite the state of despair he's in right now, which – why is he friends with those people again? Because they don't care, right, that's exactly why, because Ilona is more interested into her book, _War & Peace_ this week, than what he has to say and when did that even happen? He remembers a time when Ilona despised books as much as Steven hates his relatives which is quite an arsenal of negative emotions, let him tell you. Duh.

"Who kissed who?" Arpad demands to know, eyebrows raised high enough to almost disappear in his red curls, placing his coffee mug on the table before sitting down next to their blonde co-worker.

"Georg and Kodaly, though I have no idea why, Arpad," Ilona says, not bothering to look up from her book. Steven glares at her.

Arpad whistles, "I didn't know Mr. Nowack and you are a thing, Mr. Kodaly. Congratulations."

Steven glares at him too, for good measure, when he says, "We aren't."

Ilona gives him a look. It's her Steven-you're-an-Idiot-but-I-still-like-you-Look.

"He was supposed to be my fake boyfriend for the Christmas Dinner and I was suggesting a movie night so we could get more comfortable around each other, because Dinner is like in a week and–"

"And you got awfully comfortable around each other," Ilona interrupts smirking.

Steven sighs long and dreadfully, "No, that's not what I was saying."

"And what are you saying, Mr. Kodaly?" Arpad asks curiously.

"We can't kiss because I don't have any feelings for him! I don't do that kind of stuff and what if he expects something from me now? What if he hates me? What if he thinks we're dating? I already told my mother I would bring him around, what if he doesn't want to go anymore? Well, I don't want him to make assumptions just because we kissed like one time." Steven smacks his forehead onto the table top, he doesn’t even feel the pain.

"Okay Steven, listen to me and listen carefully, I will only say it once," Ilona says, "I'm pretty sure Georg doesn't hate you and I'm also pretty sure he isn't making any assumptions, he's smart, you know."

Steven's answer is muffled by the fabric of his jacket.

"And as far as I understood, you're _supposed_ to be dating anyway so I don't see a problem regarding that, but you have to tell him how you feel, if you like it or not."

He spent a night suffering imagining that and he's sure he doesn't like it all.

"You have to tell him the truth," Ilona finishes and lays her hand on top of Steven's and that brings a set of memories back to the front of his brain. Jerking, as if he burned himself, he bolts upright and cradles his hand close to his chest. Ilona stares at him disapprovingly.

"But I don't like him!" he declares, standing up and turning around, only to –

Fuck. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, n _o, no, this can't be happening_ , that isn't happening, that's a _very_ cruel, _very_ unfunny joke. He’s still dreaming or on drugs or whatever is causing harsh hallucinations.

"I see," _Georg_ , out of all people who could be here, says and he looks – Steven can't even describe what he looks like, maybe drained, like someone plugged out the charger and turned off the power or like a picture missing all colors, wilted flowers, and no, he did that, no, no, no.

Georg takes his coat and scarf and walks right out of the door and Steven doesn't even bother with his own clothing or what Arpad and Ilona might think, following him, but Georg is already out of the shop, what the fucking hell, and only in the front he catches up, wheezing like a freight train which can't be attractive at all.

"Georg wait, hey, sorry, I didn't mean that!"

Georg frowns and he looks angry, really angry, for the first time in his life Steven sees him like that, "You were rather clear with what you meant but don't you fret, I will still be your boyfriend because despite some other people I am a decent person! Don't bother _Steven_ , just fuck off."

His name sounds like a curse.

"Merry Christmas," Georg spits and then he's gone, off to the subway.

Steven swallows and tries his hardest to ignore the burn behind his eyes. A Kodaly doesn't cry.

Well, that it's starting to rain, that’s just coincidental.

*

On the 24th Christmas business is as usual: their number of customers increases rapidly and they all have a handful to do, Arpad even got promoted to some kind of half-delivery boy and half-sales clerk which makes the kid ridiculously happy, even when they skip lunch break because of the stream of people, and they sale more than on any other day of the year; especially in the perfume department. Of course there are enough women who have the nerve to flirt with Steven, more so than usually, but he breaks their hearts with a smile and an apologetic set of words; No, sorry, I’m not interested, No, sorry, I’m already in a relationship, Oh, look, here we have another shampoo best suited for dark hair, would you like to buy it? Closing time is around 6 pm and afterwards they find themselves in the break room, enjoying the pleasure of sitting down and a longer weekend ahead due to the Christmas Holidays.

Amalia and Ilona are endorsed in a conversation about what they should cook for tomorrow (Steven didn’t know they would be spending Christmas Day together) and Mr. Maraczek congratulates them all on work well done; he invites Arpad to a night out in the town like he has been doing every year ever since Arpad started working here which is kind of cute, and Sipos excuses himself early to go back to his family.

Georg announces his plans to get home early as well in the same breath, giving Steven, who’s been staring intently at the Christmas decoration on their table, something resembling a stroke.

“Merry Christmas Georg, please don’t spend it all on your own,” Ilona kisses him on the cheek and pats his cheek as he says his goodbye and Georg hugs her.

“I won’t Ilona, don’t worry so much about me.” he answers, putting on his red scarf.

“She’s right though. You deserve to spend it with your loved ones,” Amalia perks up, "But we’ve got something for you, just in case.”

“What? But – you shouldn’t have!” Georg exclaims, wide-eyed, but the girls only shush him; he would’ve never stood a chance anyway.

“Just take it Georg, we won’t take it back anyway so better accept your fate,” Amalia says, rolling her eyes but there’s the hint of a laugh in the tone of her voice and the curve of her smile, betraying her actions. She’s always been like that with Georg, even back when they were fighting constantly.

“Thank you so much,” Georg says, accepting the small package and his defeat and Amalia and Ilona high five.

Then, out of the blue Amalia says, “Oh Mr. Kodaly come over here, we’ve got something for you too!”

Huh?

 _Huh_.

That’s ... interesting.

“Amalia, Ilona, you shouldn’t have,” he declares but gets up nevertheless, kissing them both on the cheek before accepting his own package as well, trying his hardest to ignore Georg next to him. They haven’t been talking since the incident a week ago or so and it feels like it’s been months; it surprised Steven how much he could miss their easy going conversations and the joking, the content mornings and late evenings.

“We wanted to, you dumbass, and I know that there’s no reason in the world for you to ever decline a present,” Ilona says dryly and Amalia has to chuckle whereas Steven decides to ignore the comment.

“Thank you and have a wonderful Christmas, we will see each other in a few days,” he says, reaching for his coat and scarf hanging on the coat rack next to the door because there’s nothing keeping him here any longer. At least at home he got enough mulled wine to knock out a village and a generous DVD collection and there’s surely some place that’s still open around this time _and_ delivers. But when he grabs his bag he notices that Georg still hasn’t left, a break of the pattern he has taken up in the last week and it’s like he’s ... waiting. For what, no one knows. Hm.

 _Oh to hell with it_ , Steven thinks as he asks “Would you mind waiting for me, Georg? I still have to tell you something regarding the weekend.”

Georg, who’s been reading something on his phone – and when is he doing that? Never, that’s the guy who would rather visit a book club than a movie theater, he only has a phone because its a necessity – holds the door open and nods. Okay, so they haven’t reached a verbal way of communicating yet, Steven’s fine with that, but at least they are communicating. Georg’s got an impressive icy death glare and Steven would rather ban the memory of it to the furthest corner of his mind, the one with the cobwebs and the dust.

“Have a merry Christmas Amalia, Ilona. Don’t stay here for too long,” he says and they hardly hear him, already resumed to talking about dishes and table cloths but he doesn’t mind; Georg is still holding the door so he moves past him and to the front, where only the emergency exit sign and the lightning of the tree light up the large room. Everything else has been turned off when they closed.

Steven pauses under the emergency exit sign and Georg follows suit.

“What is it and please make it brief, I really do want to go home.” Georg grunts, sounding virtually distressed, the kind of tone only reserved for long rants lamenting about some particular horrid costumer or a bad book and Steven has never thought that, one day, he would be the receiver of said tone. Certainly, it doesn’t feel good even though it could be argued that he has a very subjected point of view on the matter.

“I will pick you up on the 26th around 4 pm and we will drive to my parents. Under different circumstances I would stay overnight but ... uh, now it won’t happen.” His voice falters at the end of the sentence because Georg is not even _looking_ at him. So much for a ‘decent person’. And here he though he’s the asshole.

“So we’ll be back in the city around 11 pm, if that’s fine with you?” He adds, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets whereas Georg has his hand on the door handle as if he can’t wait for this to be over. Truth be told, it hurts a little. Steven didn’t know this kind of rejection and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Perfectly fine. Is that it?” Georg says, and Steven nods. “Good, then I’ll be going, see ya’.”

“Georg, wait,” Steven says, almost grabbing the sleeve of Georg’s coat but stopping the motion midair, _thank God_ , then, quieter “Merry Christmas.”

Georg doesn’t answer, of course not, instead he vanishes into the darkness of the night.

“Merry Christmas indeed,” Steven mutters under his breath.

 

*

 

Christmas Day is quiet, almost insignificant. There’s a movie marathon on the TV and Steven puts it on, spending the whole day in bed because he can’t take a look at the couch anymore without suffocating and Love Actually doesn’t really help in that case but he always had a thing for Hugh Grant so he suffers for viewing pleasure, only being painfully reminded how lonely he actually is when even Arpad posts a picture of him and his family into their group chat. Around 11 pm he goes to bed, falling asleep hard and fast, dreaming in monochrome and of nothing at all, just like every other day of the week and most of the nights of his life as he stopped dreaming when there wasn’t a home for him in the house he grew up with anymore.

Now he’s sitting in his car, dressed in the red sweater and white dress shirt combo Georg likes so much – maybe as a peace offering – his fingers tapping rapidly against the steering wheel and trying his hardest to summon the courage to just get the fuck out and actually tell Georg that he’s there to pick him up. He’s early and he knows it but he just couldn’t stay at home any longer; too much reminded him of what happened there and Steven has thought that it would be easier to replace those memories with Georg’s practically freezing behavior towards him nowadays.

After five more minutes he turns on the radio; everything is better than the quiet and he has his mobile phone connected that’s still set on the ridiculous playlist Ilona made him for his birthday. Georg should be here in another five minutes and soon enough Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefanie comes on shuffle and he’s singing along because why the hell not. There’s nothing wrong with a good pop tune.

Right in the middle of the second verse someone bangs on the window on the passenger side and he hastily pauses the song, unlocking the door, only to have none other than, of course, Georg open it. Steven swallows. He looks good, his hair styled neatly, almost like his everyday-working-look but one curl disarray, and he’s wearing dark pants and a gray wool sweater, stark contrast to his red scarf and the red lining of his jacket. Suddenly it’s way too cramped inside the car.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says and starts the engine. Georg spares him only with the barest of glances, too busy taking off his gloves. At least that’s what Steven tells himself.

“I told you I would do it and I stick to what I say despite what some people might think,” Georg answers which is only almost a lie, or maybe not the whole truth, because he knows that Georg is anxious about such things and would rather put off doing it than going through with what he said, even though he likes to claim otherwise. It’s a wonder he’s doing this today and Steven appreciates it more than words can say.

“I’m aware of it,” he says, risking a quick look to the right where Georg is folding his scarf very thoroughly, “Wait, are you wearing this hideous coat today?”

Georg glares at him, “Do you think you’re in the right position to make such assumptions?”

“Fair enough.” Steven nods, signaling a left turn and doesn’t press on further; they’re already maneuvering on thin ice anyway, no need for putting on hot socks.

After a while (Steven turns on the radio again, earning a skeptical glance from the right where his _companion_ begins to inspect his phone, looking for – whatever, really – until he turns on a jazz record and Steven does his hardest to suppress the irritated huff that fights it way out of his throat. Thankfully, the music drowns it out) they’re out of the city and driving through the woods and it’s not long from there until they’re arriving at the small town Steven grew up in. Georg keeps pressing his nose onto the window pane, looking around with the same childlike curiosity he possessed at Steven’s flat and it’s _adorable_ but Steven bites his tongue so he doesn’t say a thing.

As he steers the car through the narrow streets he has to agree with Georg actions though; the freshly fallen snow is gleaming like a warm shade of silver in the glow of the golden streetlights and the houses are decked in various levels of Christmas decoration, some bordering on tacky and obsessive (truly American) and others classy and inventive. His former chemistry teacher still has the terrible Christmas elves in his garden which, honestly, are just plain creepy and used to scare him as a pre-teen and as a teenager as well but he would never admit that in front of anyone, and their neighbors still spot the same range of decorations as they did twenty years ago, only updated the slightest bit.

The house of Stevens parents – and the house he grew up in – is only decorated with a few selective lightning ornaments because his mother always has had good taste when it came to those things, spending every year decorating their Christmas tree with him, even when he was already in High School and a few years after he graduated, too. Basically until their relatives told her what they really thought about her _Steve_ and that was the end of the holiday spirit.

He parks the car next to uncle Peter’s and turns it off, taking a steadying breath. Georg, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, seems to notice that there’s something wrong and clasps Steven’s cold hands between his own, pressing a kiss to the tips of his fingers and then, leans over the middle to kiss Steven on the mouth, warm and reassuring.

Steven can’t _breathe_. His lungs are filled with water and he’s drowning, he hasn’t been prepared for this and he might be shaking, maybe, for all he knows he could also be burning, a bonfire, warming his twisted insides and fragile bones because he missed that, he wants that, forever, even if he knows that it’s only an illusion, only for now, only temporally.

“It’s going to be okay, we got this,” Georg says, smiling, and it’s looks a bit off, sad, but only because Steven can tell the difference, “Calm down.”

“Yeah,” Steven manages and draws the right corner of his lips upwards, “Let’s get in there.”

They make their way to the front door hand in hand (he could get used to it) and it takes Steven’s parents approximately five seconds after the first doorbell ring to open the door and usher them inside. Georg is seemingly awkward and taken off guard, Steven tells him it’s going to be okay just as he did seconds ago.

Steven can still feel Georg’s lips on his own.

“Merry Christmas Mum, Merry Christmas Dad,” he says after he’s taken off his coat and scarf and Georg has done the same; he’s bought the presents himself, only told Georg that they would gift them together, and now he’s holding both packages in his slightly trembling hands, grinning at his parents like he’s the one who’s getting them. Or won the lottery, whatever you prefer.

“Oh Steven, you shouldn’t – thank you, darling.” his mother says and he’s not too sure if she’s serious or if it’s faux-cheering and, besides that, it does hardly matter. He couldn't tell the difference even if he tried and God knows he tried often enough.

His father pats his back like an universal sign for _Well done_ , or _I’m fond of you_ , or _I don’t want to touch you but I like you, son, you did well_ and any version is as flattering as the next: not at all.

“Your cousins and uncles and aunts are already waiting for you and they can’t wait to meet your, ah, _friend_.” she pronounces the last word like it’s an inconvenience and Steven grabs Georg’s hand mostly out of spite, following his parents into the dining room.

“We can’t wait to meet them,” Georg says politely, oh, _sweetly_ , almost sugarcoated, and it’s his customer voice, the one with the fake smile attached, Steven realizes and can’t help but hide his giggle in Georg’s shoulder, who’s chuckling inaudibly as well because he’s a savage.

The dining room looks like it does every year: medium sized tree in one corner, huge table in the other and the smallest of spaces to step freely in between; his relatives are all seated except for his cousin Andrew who’s opening a bottle of red wine, for the turkey supposedly, and he’s wearing that terribly tasteless Christmas sweater _again_ , not that Steven is surprised, trust his family to look like the mismatched bunch of people they are. His uncle Peter, Andrew’s father and the straightest man Steven ever met, is standing up to show Andrew how “real men do it,” and Steven really wants to walk right out of this room, to his car and drive out of town, miles away from the people who despise him more than they would ever admit in his presence. It’s a miracle he doesn’t gag.

“Guys, look who arrived! Steven and his, uh, friend Greg!” his mother says cheerfully and Steven can see Georg’s jaw working. He holds onto his hand tighter like it’s an anchor and Georg’s hand returns the favor fondly, just the right amount of pressure and steady warmth.

“It’s Georg actually,” he corrects her after everyone’s attention is on them. The sweet smile hasn’t vanished yet.

“Right,” she says, moving past him to her seat at the end of the table, next to Steven’s father.

“Merry Christmas everyone,” Steven greets, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say, he never did with those people, tugging Georg along to their places across from Steven’s brother and his wife, a pretty brunette, who’s eyeing them curiously, as if she’s never seen two men hand in hand. She probably hasn’t. Her husband is a preacher, after all.

“Georg, that’s my brother Thomas and his wife Sofia, Thomas, Sofia, that’s my boyfriend Georg.” he says, maybe a bit louder than necessary but who knows, really, Steven _always_ talks louder than necessary, it could be a pure coincidence. The uncomfortable silence following his announcement speaks volumes though and they quickly take their seats next to each other, before the gunfire of questions ensues. Ah, here it is, the onslaught.

Thomas is the first one, of course, “You never told us that you have a boyfriend, Steven.” The disappointment is obvious in his tone but there isn’t a time where he’s _not_ disappointed in his little brother. It’s their thing, _his_ thing, being the family disappointment.

“Oh, I haven’t? I must’ve never mentioned it when you called me – oh, right, you _never_ called, none of you did except for mum.” He smiles, a smile tainted with venom and disgust. Georg stares at him and then there’s a gentle hand on his thigh and Steven intertwines their fingers so he has something to hold on to.

“ _Steven_ ,” his mother warns, because of the PDA or because of his answer he’s not really sure; it doesn’t matter, he’s treated like a child anyway.

“It’s fine mum,” Thomas sighs, filling their glasses with the former mentioned wine, now opened, and Andrew is staring at them like they are zoo animals, the particularly rare kind some see only once in their life. Steven glares daggers at him.

“How long have you two been together?” Sofia asks, honesty lacing her voice, surprising the both of them and Steven motions for Georg to answer the question because the guy hasn’t said anything despite telling them his right name which shouldn’t even have happened at all.

“About a year or so, I’m a bit clumsy when it comes to dates but I’m sure Steven remembers.”

Steven doesn’t. Steven couldn’t even if it would be real. Steven’s really really _really_ bad with dates.

“But it must’ve been around Christmas, right?” he goes on, waiting for the other man’s approval which he gets with a nod, “Yeah, I think on the 24th but that’s just trying to pinpoint things, we’ve been on and off since the start of November but I’m sure you understand that it takes extraordinarily long for Steven to acknowledge a relationship – wait, do you have white wine too? If it wouldn’t be an inconvenience.”

“Steven wouldn’t even recognize love if it bites him straight in the face,” his cousin Brenda laughs and raises her glass in a toast, “But I’m glad you caught him.”

“Yeah, it’s not like that bachelor lifestyle was an actual way of living, a man needs some stability,” Aunt Adeline says, and she’s already pretty buzzed but nevertheless it’s charming in it’s own way.

“And what are you working?” Steven’s mother asks and he knows her well enough to get the hidden meaning of those words. She wants to know more about Georg’s social background and if he’s as much of a let down as they’ve expected and that’s just an insult towards Steven’s impeachable taste in men and women alike.

“I’m an assistant manager at Marazcek’s, I’ve been working there for seven years, that’s how we met.” he answers truthfully, sipping at his wine, still red despite his request.

Steven’s father makes an approving noise, “Assistant manager? Well done, Georg. No offense but how comes my son isn’t in that position? He’s been working there for nine years and he’s still only a sales clerk.”

There’s no need for harsh words, Steven tells himself and counts to ten in his head, twice, for the sake of it.

“Oh, he’s the most hardworking employee we have, Mr. Kodaly, Marazcek’s simply wouldn’t be the same without him.” Georg says and it’s igniting the bonfire in Steven’s belly again; he’s never heard someone praising his work quite as generous as his friend just did. They’re friends, right? On the way, probably.

Nodding, his father says, “If you say so, I’m sure you right but I understand that my son can be a .... ah, a handful sometimes.”

Despite that comment Georg beams at Steven who blushes, geez, thank God the lights are dimmed. “Well I find him rather charming even though he can be difficult sometimes, but we make it work. Don’t we, _darling_?” he says sweetly and Steven wants to break his hand right then and there, _what the fuck is he even doing_ , and why the hell is he so convincing? Why the hell is Steven’s heart beating so fast?

“Indeed, sweetheart.” Steven smiles, he knows how to play that game, just to drive this one home but whatever he would’ve added gets lost in the noise of something that can only be described as a glass hitting the table violently. Ah, of course, things have just went way too smoothly up until now.

“This is outrageous!” Uncle Pete snarls, voice like thunder and Steven flinches, “No man shall lie with another man, it’s unnatural! Katherine, Illya, what have you done to your son?”

He leans over to Georg, who looks seriously frightened, “Told you they were stupid bigots. It’s a wonder cousin Andrew hasn’t said a word yet.” he whispers and he’s so close, he can _feel_ the heat radiating from Georg’s body.

“Peter!” his mother shrieks and his father sighs deeply, “Pete, if you have anything to say about my son or his partner then please, be my guest, but realize that it will be the last time you say anything at this table, in this house even, and in case you were wondering, that goes for all of you – Ah, Glenda, yes. Please leave if you’re not fine with any of that.”

His aunt Glenda has a sour expression on her face as she stands up and when Steven catches her eye, it quickly transforms into disgust. Georg squeezes his hand. Along with her, Uncle Peter stands up, as well as their children and his cousins Joe, Andrew’s older brother, and Ana, Joe’s younger sister, all looking rather uncomfortable but none just a bit sorry and Steven clenches his jaw. He doesn’t need those people in his life either way, to hell with them and everything they stand for.

“The church says it’s not right, that’s all I’m saying,” Joe states bluntly and Steven glances at Thomas, who’s eyes are carefully trained onto his empty plate.

“Yeah, I don’t care about the church, never did, so, ah, fuck you. That’s it,” Steven replies cheerfully.

Uncle Peter’s hand twitches dangerously.

“I hope you burn in hell, Steven,” Joe spits, shoving his chair backwards, taking his sister by the hand and dragging her out of the room.

“I hope you’re satisfied with what your son has become, Illya.” Uncle Peter says grimly, mirroring his son’s movements and ushering his wife out of the dining room without another word. There’s the dull sound of hushed whispers coming from the hallway but Steven’s pretty sure that his relatives can see themselves out, there’s only one front door after all and they’ve been here at least two times a year, the birthday’s not included.

Andrew’s still sitting though, head bowed and hands clasped together on the table, and Brenda, who’s sitting next to him, is rubbing his back, murmuring soothing words in his ear.

“So, now that this little inconvenience is thankfully over and done with – and I’m so sorry you had to witness this Georg, you’re both welcome here of course, it’s just - Peter’s always been like that. Even when they were teenagers, right Illya?” his mother asks, smile still in place if not dimmed a bit, and his father nods, “How about dinner? I’m sure you’re all hungry and, please, let’s make the best out of this evening despite what just happened. Andrew, sweetheart, do you know how to get home? We could always set you up in Steven’s bedroom, you both don’t want to stay, do you?”

They didn’t plan to but he still nudges Georg with his foot and turn his head to look up at him – it’s a crime that the guy is still taller than him when they’re sitting down – and, my god, it’s so easy to forget that it’s all pretend when Georg looks at him like that, all reassuring warmth and confused adornment. He has to remind himself that he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want a relationship. He doesn’t want to kiss Georg and hold his hand under the table and he doesn’t want to have him at his side. He’s Steven Kodaly. He doesn’t want to be in love. He _isn’t_. It’s fucking ridiculous that he thinks about it.

“Well,” Thomas interrupts them, strolling back over from where he’s been looking out of the window, and he’s been so focused on his cousin that he hasn’t noticed his brother even moving, “Hate to break it to you but it will be a miracle if our extended family will make it back home without a hitch. The streets are frozen and it just started to snow rapidly; I think we’re in for a cozy family get-together that will last longer than just a few hours. I would advice to set up the guest rooms for everyone who’s left and Steven and Georg can take his bedroom, me and Sofia will take my room, Andrew, there’s Steven’s childhood bedroom, I mean, it’s not much but there’s a bed in there and you will fit.”

His brother is met with stunned silence, all eyes fixed on where he’s standing next to his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest and _still_ cutting an impressive figures. Steven has never seen him as a priest but he imagines it to be quiet the sight, given how imposing he is right now. Thomas has always been a leader whereas Steven never bothered to assign himself any role.

The people left – Andrew, Brenda, aunt Adaline and uncle Nikolas, aunt Margaret and her teenaged daughter Charlotte, father’s other brother Alexander and his wife Elizabeth, Sofia, his parents and lastly Georg and him – scramble to their feet as if somebody just flipped on a light switch and they’ve been in the dark for the bigger half of events.

Before anything more serious can happen though, his mother plants both hands onto the table top, “Stop! Everyone stop. Thomas is right but we will have dinner now and after that we can take care of the rooms. Sit down please and Illya would you get the turkey, Steven, you and your brother can help too and Georg and Andrew, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Steven takes Georg hand just because he can, ignoring how the man tenses slightly, and leads him into their huge kitchen.“I hope that’s okay with you?” He whispers and Georg nods lightly.

“All’s fine, I mean if we can’t get out of here without dying in the icy woods then I’m okay with that. I prefer a fire place to bleeding out in the snow anytime. Besides, the food’s free and _oh_ , looks delicious too. It’s fine,” he assures him and leans over the bowl of mashed potatoes.

Steven sighs internally. He’s not sure if it’s good that they will have to spend more hours than necessary together but if Georg doesn’t mind it might all turn out .... _Fine_.

Nevertheless he follows his relatives and brings two bowls of something he can’t really identify back into the dining room (it smells really good though), admiring Georg’s ass on the way back (because he’s walking in front of him) and ignoring Thomas’ disapproving snort (because he’s walking behind Steven).

They eat in relative silence but every now and then his fingers brush Georg’s and they will share a look that Steven doesn’t quite understand.

This all pretend and maybe, if he reminds himself often enough, he will stop holding on to an idea.

 

*

 

Much later, they are all huddled together in the living room in front of the fire place, just talking and in spite of all things considered it’s actually _nice_ – who thought he would ever think such thing? – with Georg pressed close to him on the love seat and a cup of steaming tea in his hand, his feet tucked safely under the other man’s thighs because his toes were about to fall off and Georg accepted it with only mild complaining and an eye roll which is. More than Steven hoped for, to be honest.

Sometimes he catches some of the others, mostly Andrew, staring at them but he can’t ever figure out if it’s because they are interested and curious or offended. None of them have left though, so he counts it as a win and doesn’t say a word.

Georg is engaged in a conversation with his mother and aunt Adaline about books (what else, really) and he’s flushed, his hands maneuvering through the air in an almost manic manner and Steven’s content with watching him while sipping his hot drink; it’s almost domestic if there wouldn’t be that nagging doubt in his mind, the figurative thorn in his side keeping him from fully enjoying this.

They’ve carried the little bit of stuff they had upstairs – Georg brought a set of spare clothing; why, Steven has no idea. He only shrugged and explained that if he ruined one set of clothing while they’re eating then he could still change and no one ever knew when they might be stuck in a blizzard (ha ha) and have to stay overnight at some cranky Inn (exact word-choice) and, honestly, why is Steven looking at him like this, don’t all people bring along clothing when they take longer trips out of the city? (Again, exact choice of words) (No, they don’t)

His bedroom is nothing fancy; it has a bed that barely fits two people, a fact he tries his hardest _not_ to think about, a wardrobe full of clothing he rarely wears, a desk and a shelf full of movies and CDs. There’s a large window too and it overlooks the city. Georg looked almost like a fever dream in front of it, another thing Steven doesn’t want to think about even though the picture appear behind his eyelids time and time again.

“–rite book is Anna Karenina? What a coincidence! It’s my favorite too! Don’t you think it’s a marvelous work of art? I absolutely love it and whenever I’m on a train platform it’s like it’s _hers_ all over again and I just expect her to pass me and vanish into the fog, and sometimes I imagine to reach out, trying to save her ...” Georg sighs, and Steven hides his smile behind his cup, he’s such a _dork_ , “But I know I’m too late. It’s incredible how it sticks with you, isn’t it?

“Oh Georg, you’re so right!” his mother gushes, leaning towards him, “I’ve probably read it more than fifty times by now.”

Georg makes that face, the weirdly delighted one that always cracks Steven up, “Incredible, right?”

“Yes,” Adaline says, swirling the red wine in her glass. “It’s really a work of art but I have to admit, I do enjoy War & Peace too, as well as other classics. I particularly enjoyed To Kill A Mockingbird.”

“What a beautiful book.” Georg closes his eyes briefly, “I love it. There’s really nothing like To Kill A Mockingbird.”

“Honey, you got yourself such a well-educated man .... I didn’t thi – It doesn’t matter, I’m proud of you,” his mother says, addressing Steven who’s been just fine with watching Georg do his ... _thing_.

“Why, thank you mum. I’m glad,” he answers and bites his tongue to stop another set of truly stupid words to slip out. When he looks up, Georg beams at him.

“I’m glad too, Mrs. Kodaly.”

“Please, call me Katherine.” She says gently, waving Georg’s complains off.

“Just roll with it,” Steven grins, sitting up to press a kiss on Georg’s cheek who’s blushing furiously, hand fidgeting in the air as if he wants to grab him and keep him right where he is and, in all honesty, Steven wouldn’t mind. It’s been awhile.

Just then Andrew and Charlotte come back into the room, both carrying traits of various Hungarian and non-Hungarian Christmas pastries, chatting animatedly with each other until Andrew stops dead in his tracks, gaping open-mouthed at Georg and Steven on the couch, the latter rising an eyebrow in silent question.

His other relatives go quiet way too quickly as they realize that something is happening. What exactly, none of them is sure of, but if it has such an impact on Andrew, it must be _something_ and something is always entertaining.

“Steven, Georg, I’m so – sorry but haven’t you realized that you’ve been sitting under the mistletoe the whole time?” Andrew shrieks, his voice venturing into dangerously high register, shock evident in his almost comically wide eyes and perfect O-shaped mouth.

“He’s right!” Sofia giggles, the traitor, and Steven narrows his eyes. Who gives a fuck about a mistletoe these days, he certainly couldn’t care less and he won’t start now, just because of some stupid tradition that’s been around for longer than himself. Or his parents. Grandparents. Whatever.

Steven’s mother, another one for the traitor list, _laughs_.

“You have to kiss, if you want it or not.”

Georg looks at him and there’s that deep line between his brows that Steven wants to smooth with the tips of his fingers and, hell, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling and why he’s feeling right now, everything’s just a big, confused lump inside of him that doesn’t make sense and he doesn’t think that kissing Georg will help the case, on the contrary actually. But he doesn’t want to think of the cold ignorance and the icy behavior anymore. He doesn’t want to return to that after this here is over.

So he shrugs and smiles sheepishly, “I guess we have to.”

Georg nods, turning to look at him and grabs his face with both hands, almost delicately, and Steven leans back into the sofa cushions propped against the armrest, his free hand coming to rest in the nape of Georg’s neck and again, because history has this sick sixth sense of repeating itself, it’s Georg who closes the distance between them and seals their lips in a kiss.  
  
Suddenly Steven’s not cold but feverishly hot, closing his eyes while trying to savor the feeling, the taste and the touch, every bit of what is happening; Georg’s weight above him and his hazel eyes, his warm lips and the white wine on his tongue, his soft hands and his gray sweater and everything else that’s making him light-headed and heavy-hearted.

“Woah, pretty sure that’s enough!” Charlotte chuckles, hitting Steven in the head with another cushion, and all three of them resolve into a fit of giggles, some of them more breathless than the others.

Georg ducks his head, “Yeah, uh ... Got kinda carried away, really sorry about that. I know that not all of you are used to,” he gestures between him and Steven, who’s still. Not sure what just happened, “This.”

“It’s one time, it’s okay,” Andrew assures him, grinning.

Steven’s still processing. Maybe dying, he doesn’t know. Something is happening inside of him and he can’t ... He’s not familiar with that.

After five more minutes he excuses himself upstairs and shucks out of his clothes into his pajamas, curling up on his side of the bed (or, well, one half, there aren’t _real_ sides) and falls into a fitful sleep.

If he dreams of hot touches and soft lips, it’s not his fault.

  
*

 

In the morning it’s freezing. That’s not a carefully crafted observation, it’s just a fact and Steven buries himself further under the covers until the only things left peaking out are his nose and his forehead. There’s a pleasant source of warmth on his right side, the one not facing the wall, so he snuggles closer to it, tangling his (admittedly) cold feet with legs in soft pajama pants and he’s very very comfortable for the following three minutes. Then, reality creeps in and hits him like an abandoned car.

He opens his eyes and the sun gleaming in from through the hastily closed curtains blinds him for a second – all whitesnowybrightness – before his vision clears and is filled with mussed up dark curls, closed eyes and pale skin.

 _Too close_ , he decides, it’s _too_ close.

This is not. Happening. He’s about to burst like a broken mirror, inevitably and ruined, because he has never learned to fucking cope with anything.

Steven breathes deeply and slowly and counts to ten in his head and breathes _again_ because the human body needs oxygen to survive or something like that and he might be hyperventilating but who knows at this point? Black dots are creeping in and Steven’s brain stops working and his breathing is so irregular – what the fuck is going on? And, _shit_ , it’s fucking freezing in here, why did no one turn up the heating, are only idiots around?

“Hey, hey, Steven, hey, you alright?”

He’s not but how can he say that without suffocating? There’s not enough air in this room and his head feels like it’s going to implode and his lungs are closing up and there’s nothing left, he’s going to die, here and now in the frigid hell of his bedroom, in his underwear and a seven years old shirt with holes in its neck and he’s going to be the ugliest corpse ever and who would’ve expected _that_?

“Steven? Steven, c’mon, come here, you’re scaring me.” A large hand is on his back, then an arm around his middle and suddenly he’s cradled like a child, so he hides his face in the crook of Georg’s neck where the world doesn’t seem as harsh, where everything is safe and quiet and dull, where nothing hurts.

Georg – it’s Georg in his bed, Steven knows, it’s Georg holding him, it’s Georg who’s drawing patterns onto the skin of his thighs with shaking hands right now – is not letting go though. He only hugs Steven tighter, one hand on the back of Steven’s neck, the other on Steven’s legs, and he’s wearing an old pair of Steven’s pajamas and if Steven tries to breathe but fails, well, it can’t be his fault.

This isn’t real. Nothing of this is real. Why can’t Georg just _leave_? Why can’t he just leave Steven to die so he doesn’t have to pretend anymore?

Time ticks by. How much, Steven has no idea; it feels like minutes but it could also be hours for all he knows, the seconds are altered in Georg’s grip and distorted by hot tears running down Steven’s cheeks, and it’s cold. Settled deep in his bones, nestled between his ribs, it’s cold.

“Geez, Steven, you scared the shit out of me. You’re okay?” Georg inquires while his touch is burning fingerprints onto Steven’s skin.

“I don’t know,” he croaks out, actually taken aback by how wrecked his voice sounds.

That’s the truth. Outside it’s snowing.

“It’s gone, hey, it’s alright, yeah? I’m here for you.” Georg soothes and Steven wants to laugh. _What a fucking lie._

“You’re not,” he voices his thoughts, “You’re not. You’re only sticking around because we’ve made this deal or whatever it is and because we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere without signal or clear roads or a death wish. You’re stuck with me because of some stupid favor even though I’m an asshole and insensitive and on top of that _apparently_ delirious.”

Georg makes a weird sound and brings an arm’s length of distance between them, leaning back so he can take a good look at Steven, “You really think that?”

Steven sniffles and wipes the reminder of tears out of his blotchy eyes, “What else?” he says because really, what else. Right now he has other problems than his low self-esteem and reoccurring anxiety or Georg’s stupid questions that don’t make sense anyway because Steven knows he’s a mess and Georg might be too, but at least he’s a decent person with moral principles whereas Steven is just. Troubled, at best.

“You ever thought about that, hey, maybe I like spending time with you? And maybe I like talking to you and watching movies with you and maybe I like drinking terrible red wine and quiet mornings in the shop with you? And do you have ever thought, maybe, just for a second that I might even like you?” Georg says and he sounds as sincere as he looks, every mask stripped off his face, and his hands are warm on Steven’s cold cheeks.

“Have you ever thought about that, Steven?” He repeats gently.

“No,” Steven admits, “No, because I’ve been such an asshole to you and you don’t deserve that. I know when I did something wrong, Georg, it might surprise you but I do realize when I have fucked up.” He doesn’t know if he makes sense, his head is still messy but, quite frankly, he doesn’t even care if he makes sense as long as it makes perfect sense to himself.

"Ever thought that I might have forgiven you?” Georg asks, looking him in the eye with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Now would you look at that.

“Why and when would you?”

“Because I had a good amount of time to think, because I _like_ you and I’m pretty sure it happened sometime between you staring at my ass and that hideous mistletoe incident. You know, I can’t resist good kisses.”

Steven chuckles albeit it’s muffled by his stuffed nose, “Oh, well.”

“Can I kiss you now? Are you okay with that?” Georg says like he’s treading through muddy water and doesn’t know what’s hiding underneath the surface, out of the blue as if the thought has been on his mind the whole time. And that’s a little frightening.

“Sure but,” Steven makes a face, blushing “Morning breath?”

Georg laughs. He actually laughs, that sweet sound from the cafe that Steven fell in love with weeks ago before he even knew what he was getting himself into.

“I don’t care,” Georg shrugs funnily and Steven is still in his lap so he’s taking advantage of his current position, resting their foreheads together to share the air he ran out of only moments ago, before kissing Georg chastely and sweetly, almost innocent, like a lazy late summer day in the middle of a snow storm and he forgets the waves and the oceans and the water in his lungs and his family and his principles and everything else because this feels right, for once in his life this is exactly where he belongs.

They get lost in each other and maybe, maybe Steven doesn’t want Georg to leave anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I guess I have to clear things up a bit:
> 
> No, there wasn't a grand declaration of love and that's the way it's supposed to be. Even in the first draft of this story there wasn't a big "I Love You" scene because this is Steven Kodaly. He didn't even say "I like you" because he got some issues and they aren't magically cured because some guy tells him so though he's very much in love with Georg and vice versa. When they realized this is up to you and I have my own personal musings and moments but I didn't want to specify - again, this is Steven's point of view. Also, yes, they've got together for real in/after the last scene if it wasn't clear.
> 
> Yes, this is my love letter to Steven Kodaly. And Gavin Creel. In Gavin's words, "Kodaly isn't the bad guy, I don't see him that way" and this is me, trying to explore his character and why he behaves the way he does. This is by no means an excuse for his actions, merely me trying to work with a pretty one-dimensional character. I started writing this even before I have ever watched the musical and fleshed out half the characters with only the cast recording as a source, so if anything feels off, I did my best to fix it. 
> 
> Regarding the sexual and romantic orientations, there's not much to say but I may share with you how I headcanon the characters: 
> 
> Steven Kodaly: doesn't label himself, probably pansexual/homoromantic.  
> Georg Nowack: bisxueal/demiromantic  
> Amalia Balash: homosexual/biromantic  
> Ilona Ritter: bisexual/biromantic  
> Arpad Laszlo, my personal fave: asexual/aromantic
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, this is a mess, kinda, and yes, the choice that Steven doesn't label himself has been made consciously. Anyway.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, find me on tumblr henribrl.
> 
> Fuck Heteronormativity.


End file.
